Page 144 of The Good Duke
A stilted silence followed his question.
“Seph?”
Persephone came up quickly on her knees beside him. “I didn’t tell you these things to anger you but rather because you deserve the truth,” she said, running her gaze over his face. “And you have from the start.”
Simon stilled. Warning bells began to chime, and the sick, unwelcome truth settled somewhere in the pit of his belly.
He knew the man.
“Who?” he asked hoarsely.
“I’m telling you because I should have been honest from the start. I need you to understand why I asked for references and that you set me free.”
An odd humming filled his ears.
She’d put her plea to Simon after his—and her—meeting in Hyde Park with the Marquess of Bute and the gentleman’s sister.
Oh, God.
“I will not ruin what you most want, Simon,” Persephone said earnestly.
What he most wanted? What was Seph even talking about?
His mind trapped on that recent walk she’d taken around Hyde Park and the serious-looking conversation she’d had with the marquess.
He only faintly heard Persephone’s next words.
“Lady Isabelle is one of my former charges.”
From that revelation, Simon knew what was coming. He knew what she’d say before she even spoke her next words, and he didn’t want them because then the rival would be real, and a relationship with Persephone he’d fought since they’d been reunited would be impossible.
Persephone held his gaze, took in a deep breath, and said words Simon never wanted to hear.
“The Marquess of Bute was my former love, Simon,” she said quietly.
Chapter 27
The moment Persephone reentered Simon’s life, he’d existed in a state of abject confusion. He’d alternately hungered for her, yearned for her friendship, and been driven out of his bloody mind.
At last, everything was so much clearer.
It’s why he’d awakened as early as he did and gone to the breakfast room, where he sat in eagerness waiting for Persephone. The lady unfailingly broke her fast at eight seventeen precisely.
As the minutes ticked by into hours, and his arse had gone stiff from his lengthy sit on the mahogany dining chair, one thing became apparent—she wasn’t coming.
Simon consulted his timepiece and frowned.
Twenty-five minutes past ten.
He’d arrivedmorethan an hour early in anticipation of her avoiding him and thought maybe she intended to dine later than usual, also with that same hope motivating her. But this?
With a growl, Simon grabbed a piece of cold toast, and yanked off an angry bite. All the while he chewed, he glared at Seph’s empty seat.
This was too bloody much.
He didn’t like the idea of his proud, courageous, fearless Seph hiding from him. Nay, he fuckingloathedit to his very core.
You should fucking loathe even more that you are the one who’s driven her to it…a voice of reason taunted.
